


Coevolution: Snogging and Jelly Slugs

by unkissed



Series: Coevolution [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, First Date, First Fight, First Kiss, Gen, Hogwarts Fourth Year, M/M, POV First Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like that feeling you get when you've had a really nice cup of hot cocoa...</p><p>The story of Albus Potter's first kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coevolution: Snogging and Jelly Slugs

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Coevolution: Parts I, II, & III](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530589) by [unkissed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed). 



> Eternal gratitude to ColorfulStabWound for friendship, support, and loads of inspiration.
> 
> This was first published on Tumblr in October of 2014 on my GoAskAlbus blog.
> 
> For Scorpius, who is hotter than a nice cup of cocoa.

It’s fourth year.  I’m on the cusp of fifteen, so close that I can taste it. Scor is even closer – his birthday is the thirteenth of September, this coming Sunday.  Only I’ve forgotten, which is rare.  I’m usually really good about remembering birthdays, especially Scorpius’.  But in my defense, I’ve got quite a lot going on right now.

 

It’s the last class of the day on Friday and I jump out of my seat in Transfiguration even before McGonagall has dismissed us, as she’s pointing out the homework assignment on the chalkboard. She hasn’t been in the best health lately, and if she were at her full strength, she would have smacked me with her wand for being so rude.

 

As I’m scurrying down the center aisle toward the door with my bag half-open and spilling parchment, she yells – her voice has been quite hoarse lately, but still carries enough authority. “Those trying out for Quidditch are NOT exempt from completing this assignment by Monday!” She’s addressing the whole class, but she singles me out for obvious reasons.  “Including you, Mr. Potter!”  She’d probably reprimand me for leaving in such a rush, but she’s erupted into a coughing fit.

 

I scramble to pick up my fallen papers, stuffing them in my rucksack hurriedly.  “I know, professor.  I’ll get it done.” Both she and I know full well that I will be lucky if I complete the essay by Monday.  _Tuesday_ , I resign, _I’ll turn it in Tuesday_.

 

Again, in my defense, I have a lot going on right now.

 

I’m running down the corridor when a hand clamps down around my arm. 

 

“Hey!”  From the feel of his lithe, nimble fingers alone, I know it’s Scorpius’ hand before I even stop to turn around.

 

I expect him to scold me for having run off after class without even saying anything to him, and I’m already forming the words of my very valid excuse in my head when he divests me of my bag and says, “Give me this.  It will just slow you down. I’ll run our bags down to the dorms.”

 

I heave a small sigh of relief and smile. He’s so thoughtful I could just kiss him, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it.  “Thanks, Scor.  Are you going to come to the pitch and watch?”  It’s a pointless question.  Scorpius always watches me practice, even though I haven’t made the Slytherin Quidditch team for the past two years. 

 

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few,” he says, then adds with a wry smirk, “Probably along with your fan club.”

 

I give a little snorty giggle and roll my eyes. “I’d hardly call Morticia Montgomery a fan club.”

 

“And Lorcan, and Lysander, and Ravenna, and Juliet,” Scorpius lists them all with a pointed look.

 

I’d grown a few inches over the summer and you’d think I was a frog prince by all the attention I’ve been getting since the start of the term.  From Scorpius’ tone, I can tell that he’s slightly annoyed that I’ve been fielding amorous advances. He’s rather overprotective of me and also doesn’t like to share.  I can hardly complain because I’m far worse.  For me, it goes beyond not wanting to share my best mate.  I get jealous very easily.  I still can’t figure out if Scorpius is jealous.

 

I blush slightly at the thought of my admirers. I’m not used to people noticing me. Why would they, when there’s somebody prettier to look at, like Scorpius, or somebody louder to pay attention to, like my brother?

 

I downplay it all dismissively. “Lorcan just hangs around me because he goes wherever Lysander goes.  And to be honest, I think Lorcan is a bit keen on _you_ , Scor.”  I give him a little knowing grin.

 

He scrunches up his nose and says, “Doubtful,” before shooing me away.  He knows I’m in a rush to get to the pitch and I’m thankful for his unspoken understanding.

 

 

Just as I’d predicted, there are already several people practicing on the pitch during open hours.  Slytherin reserved the pitch tomorrow for a two-hour practice for all the team hopefuls, but I’d be stupid not to take advantage of any and all extra time in the air.  And just as Scorpius had predicted, there are people in the stands watching. I spot Scorpius’ blond head immediately from my lofty position on my broom fifty feet up.  His presence reassures me, rather than puts pressure on me. Something about having my best mate on the ground while I’m precariously in the sky makes me feel less worried about the prospect of getting knocked off my broom by a bludger.

 

Another blond head nestles close to Scorpius, and my fingers clench reflexively when I recognize him – Lorcan is easy to tell apart from his identical twin brother, not just by his short hair, but by his cold demeanor. Despite what my jovial tone may have implied earlier, I really hate the way Lorcan has been hanging around Scorpius lately. There’s something predatory and manipulative about the way he interacts with people and I don’t like it. My stomach feels knotted every time Lorcan gets too close to Scorpius.

 

Sitting on the other side of Lorcan is Lysander, who is completely unlike his twin, with his long hair and his outgoing, warm nature.  He’s waving frantically with a wide smile and it takes me a second to realize that he’s waving at me – he likely thinks that I’m looking at him.  But really, I’ve got my eyes on Scorpius, who has his chin propped on his fist and is glancing away, seemingly bored, while Lorcan is leaning close to speak with him.  I smile and give a little polite wave in return, just because I can’t be mean to Lysander. He really is such a sweet kid.

 

 

When Lysander had told me last year that he was gay, I had thought he was just confiding in me as a good friend.  I had assumed that he had somehow sensed that I was not straight and had known that I’d accept him – it was rather brave of a fourteen-year-old to do.  It eventually became apparent that Lysander had confessed because he fancies me.  I’m a bit slow when it comes to things like that and I hadn’t realized it until Alexa, ever the astute Slytherin, pointed out the doe-eyed way Lysander had begun to look at me.

 

 

“You’ve gone and done it now, Potter,” says Alexa, hovering next to me.

 

“What?  I’m just being nice,” I say defensively, “It’s not like I’m blowing kisses.”

 

“You just gave at least four different people heart palpitations by being _nice_ ,” she says, gesturing at the stands with her chin.

 

That’s when I notice a cluster of girls sitting a row above the Scamander twins and Scorpius.  Ravenna and Juliet are flanking Morticia, a Gryffindor who is hardly subtle about her crush on me, and all three are giggling and squealing. I still can’t fathom that these people fancy me, the _other_ Potter kid – the one who is nowhere near as cool as Lily or remotely as popular as James. I hazard another small smile and a wave just to see what happens.

 

I’m not at all amused nor pleased when Morticia swoons and shrieks, “Oh my Godric, Albus waved at me again!” The three girls erupt into more giggles.

 

Lysander turns around and notices the girls behind him. He looks deflated and bashful, like he thinks I’d been waving at them instead of him.  I feel a tug of guilt in my stomach.  I’ll talk to him about it later.

 

But right now, I’ve got some bludgers to dodge and some quaffles to throw.

 

 

After two hours of getting completely pummeled by Duston and Alexa, who are apparently the fiercest pair of beaters since my uncle George and uncle Fred, I somehow manage to avoid severe injury. Scorpius comes into the Slytherin team changing room, as he always does, and chats while I take off my gear.

 

“You looked great up there, Albie,” he says, ruffling my already wind-swept hair. 

 

“Yeah?  Were you really paying attention?  Because I sort of sucked,” I say, hoping that I don’t sound bitter. Because I’m not. Not really.  “You looked a bit distracted, so I don’t blame you for not noticing.”

 

“Distracted?” he asks, quirking a pale brow.

 

“You seemed to be preoccupied with Lorcan, is all I’m saying.”  I shrug casually, trying to mask my jealousy.  Apparently I’m not doing a very good job, because Scorpius gets defensive.

 

“It’s the other way around, Al. Anybody with eyes can see that,” he says with a haughty scoff, “And maybe if you weren’t so preoccupied with your fan club, you would’ve noticed, and maybe you wouldn’t suck so much at Quidditch.”

 

We glare at each other silently for a few tense moments.  It is rare that we bicker, which makes it all the more upsetting when we do argue. I pull on my jumper swiftly and mutter bitterly as I scramble to gather my things.

 

“There’s only one person’s opinion that matters, and if you don’t know who that is by now, you’ll never know,” I say, perhaps a bit cryptically.

 

I brush past him without another word and storm out of the changing room.  I’m in such a hurry to put some distance between me and Scorpius that I nearly collide with Lysander, who had apparently been waiting outside.

 

“Hey, Albie,” he beams, and I can’t stand to face him with my scowl.  “You were brilliant today.  I just know you’re going to make the team this year.”

 

I smile softly and say graciously, “Thanks Ly. I really hope you’re right.”

 

He bites his lip coyly and fidgets with the hem of his jumper when he says, “Anyway, you look like you’re in a rush. I just wanted you to know you played well.”

 

I still feel guilty about earlier, so I give in and engage him further, even though I probably shouldn’t encourage him. “I’m not in a terrible hurry. Walk back up to the castle with me and we can talk.”

 

Lysander is entirely too happy to oblige and walks me all the way to the Slytherin dungeon, even though it’s far from the Ravenclaw dorms.  After talking with him, I wonder if perhaps I didn’t suck at practice after all.

 

I’ve known him and Lorcan for a long time. We’re god brothers, actually, and though they aren’t as close to me as Teddy, I still know them quite well. And I know Lysander well enough to realize that he isn’t kissing my arse.

 

 

Scorpius still isn’t talking to me at dinner and it worries me.  I hate feeling this rift between my best mate and I – it feels like there’s a rip in the fabric of the universe. But every time I start to entertain the thought of apologizing, I realize that I’d done nothing wrong. I had made the mistake of saying Scorpius was giving Lorcan his attention, whereas Scorpius had told me that I suck at Quidditch. I shouldn’t be the one apologizing.

 

Still, his silence cuts like knives and the way he won’t even look at me is like pouring salt on those multiple knife wounds. I really can’t deal with the stress of this on top of the impending Quidditch tryouts.  So instead of retiring to the Slytherin common room after dinner, I go where nobody goes on a Friday night at Hogwarts – the library.

 

Of course fate would have it that Lysander is there. He looks up just as I enter the seating area and I don’t have time to turn away without being conspicuous. I have no reason to be cruel to him. He greets me with a smile, and I return it because I can’t help it.  I don’t sit next to him, but close enough that it might not seem like I’m purposely distancing myself. 

 

I’m trying to work on my Transfiguration assignment, but I’m too distracted by my thoughts of Scorpius and why he’s so sore with me, and of Quidditch tryouts.  It doesn’t help that I feel Lysander’s eyes on me.  I never catch him looking, but I sense that he is, and it makes me self-conscious. After an hour, I’ve got jack shit done. There’s no point in sitting here feeling awkward, so I pack up.

 

When I get up from the table, Lysander stops me. “If I don’t get to see you again before, good luck at tryouts on Sunday,” he says.

 

“Thanks, Ly.  I’m sure I’ll see you around.”  If I really thought about it, I’d be hard-pressed to remember a day since last year that I haven’t seen Lysander.  I’m fairly certain that he makes sure of that.

 

Just as I sling my rucksack over my shoulder and turn to walk away, Lysander stops me again.  “Hey Albie, what are you doing Sunday after tryouts?”

 

I shrug because I really hadn’t thought about it. I haven’t thought about doing anything but Quidditch.  “Nothing really. Why?”

 

He gazes up at me from the table and fidgets nervously with his quill.  “Maybe we could, erm, hang out or something.  Just you and me. It’s been a while, yeah?”

 

I’m reminded that we used to spend a lot of time together, before we went to Hogwarts, before his mum became a teacher. He and Lysander used to come over to play quite often.  He had started Hogwarts a year after I had, and that year without seeing each other was enough to make us distant.  Not to mention, Scorpius and I completely monopolized each other’s time.

 

Maybe it’s guilt that leads me to agree. “Yeah, sure.” 

 

“You could bring your guitar to the lake,” he suggests.

 

“Okay.  Sounds cool.”  It seems innocuous enough. Until…

 

“Great!  It’s a date, then.”  Lysander smiles wide, like he’s the happiest kid on earth.

 

And I have to force a smile in return because I’m mildly horrified at what I might have inadvertently agreed to. “Right.  See you then.”

 

 

“That sounds exactly like a date,” Alexa confirms my suspicions. 

 

I had recounted the entire conversation between Lysander and I, nearly word-for-word, for all my friends at breakfast Saturday morning. Scorpius is still giving me the cold shoulder and it’s starting to really irritate me – I really don’t have time for this shit, and he should know it.  He listens to the story and I know him well enough to recognize that look of quiet fury on his face, even though he projects indifference.

 

“Ooh Albus has a date tomorrow,” Lloyd teases melodically, “with a _boy._ ”

 

“Shit,” I sigh, dropping my face in my hands, “I really didn’t mean for it to be a date.”

 

“Honestly, how did you not realize you were agreeing to a date?  You know Lysander fancies you," says Alexa, "He asked to spend time alone with you.”

 

I can’t even answer that question. I feel so stupid.

 

“ _Tomorrow_? Your date is _tomorrow_?  You’re not actually going through with it, are you?” Scorpius asks, incredulous. It’s the first thing he’s said to me since yesterday.

 

“Yeah, tomorrow after tryouts. I can’t back out now without hurting his feelings,” I whine.

 

Duston scoffs, “Oh grow a pair, Potter. Tell him you’re not interested.”

 

“Unless you _are_ interested,” Lloyd nudges me with his elbow and smirks salaciously.

 

“He _is_ super cute, Albie.  You should just go for it,” Alexa encourages me, “If there’s nothing there, then so be it. If there’s chemistry, then you’ve got yourself your very first boyfriend.”

 

“And it proves to all of us what we’ve suspected for years,” Lloyd chimes in.

 

“What?  That I’m gay?” I say, unashamed.

 

“No, I was going to say it proves you’ve a thing for blonds, but hey, thanks for confirming that other one for us too.” He claps me hard on the back and I can’t even feel relieved about the fact that nobody seems scandalized by this impromptu _coming out_.

 

It’s all so overwhelming and I’ve no idea how I feel about Lysander or what I want to do about this date.  “Merlin’s balls, a boyfriend?  I’m not even allowed to date until I’m sixteen.”

 

“Give the boy a break, Lex,” says Duston, “It’s just a date.  No need to start planning your outfit for the wedding.”

 

“I don’t know, Al.  If you go on this date and you don’t really fancy him _like that_ you’re just leading him on,” Bryce advises, “But it’s your call, man.”

 

I pinch the bridge of my nose and heave a deep, resigned sigh.  “I should just leave the plans as they are. I can’t deal with this right now.  If I’m not into it, I’ll tell him right then and there that I don’t fancy him.”

 

“I can’t believe you, Albus,” Scorpius mutters. “Tomorrow.  Of all the fucking days.”

 

“It’ll be after the tryouts,” I reiterate, “And honestly, I’ll be glad for a distraction before the team roster is posted.”

 

“Right, because you’ve got nothing to do otherwise,” he grumbles, scowling, and promptly leaves the breakfast table without another word.

 

Equally sarcastic, I call out after him because I’m so fed up with his attitude.  “Thanks, Scor.  Your jealousy is really helping me right now.  I’m not under a lot of stress or anything.”

 

He doesn’t turn around and keeps walking right out of the Great Hall.

 

 

I am so grateful that I get to throw things for two hours.  I hit Quidditch practice harder than the Montague twins beat bludgers.  I harness all that anger and frustration and focus it on hurling the quaffles with everything I’ve got.  I score more goals than I ever thought I could, and by the end of practice, Steven Shen, the team captain, tells me I’m practically a shoe-in for Chaser.

 

But I don’t get cocky.  I know better than to get my hopes up.  When tryouts come on Sunday morning, I frantically scan the spectators in the stands for my good luck charm, for my rock. Even though I half expected Scorpius to not be there in light of our tiff yesterday, his absence still hurts. I’m more nervous than I would be otherwise. And I’m kicking myself for being so petty.  I should’ve made up with Scorpius by now.  I should’ve known that fighting with him would affect my performance.  On top of that, I’m nervous about my date with Lysander later. He’s in the stands watching me and cheering me on, which doesn’t help at all with the pressure I feel.

 

As fate would have it, I’m not nearly as good at tryouts as I was at yesterday’s practice.  Steven disappointedly shakes his head at me every time I miss a goal or get in the way of the opposition’s bludger.  When the humiliating ordeal is over, Steven tells me the most I could hope for is reserve Seeker, since I’m fast.  But I can pretty much kiss Chaser goodbye.

 

Even Lysander knows it wasn’t good. “There’s always next year,” he says when we meet at the lakeside later that afternoon.

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I sigh.

 

Lysander puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought anything of the gesture.  But now, I’m hyper-aware of everything because my friends have made me paranoid.  He reassures me, “You’ve got a whole year to get better.  You were brilliant at practice.  You just need to learn how to perform under pressure.”

 

“Easier said than done,” I mutter.

 

He leans against me so that we’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder.  I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with the awkwardness that would ensue if I conspicuously put some distance between us.  If I really thought about it, there’d be worse things than getting cozy with Lysander Scamander.  And it actually feels rather nice to be close to somebody.

 

“You’re a performer, though.  How do you deal with pressure when you’re performing your music? It can’t be all that different, right?”

 

I’d never thought of it that way before, but he’s got a good point.  “Well, I focus on one thing or one person and I let everything else fall away.  Then I don’t feel the pressure of a dozen sets of eyes on me.”

 

“Show me,” he says.  “Sing a song.”

 

Nobody ever has to tell me twice to sing. So I pick up my guitar and Lysander budges over to give me room to play, but he’s still sitting close. “I wrote this one a couple of weeks ago. It’s about when you see somebody again after not seeing them for a really long time.  How good it feels.” 

 

It’s about Scorpius.  Almost all my songs are about Scorpius.  I don’t realize that it could be interpreted differently until Lysander rests his head on my shoulder after I’ve finished playing.

 

“I like that one.  I missed hearing you sing.  I remember when you used to play my dad’s piano after dinner when your family would come to visit,” he says wistfully.

 

“I still like to play piano and sing after dinner. Helps me digest,” I say with a smile. “Pity I can’t use the one in the music room after dinner.”

 

“If it would help you digest, you could sing to me after dinner whenever you want,” he says with a small giggle.

 

“I don’t usually have a willing audience when I sing after dinner. It’d be nice to not get pelted with left-over bread for a change,” I joke.

 

We laugh and reminisce about family dinners and childhood play dates.  And I forget that I’d been nervous about being with him.  I forget that I’d been apprehensive about humoring him.  In fact, I forget I’m humoring him at all because I’m actually enjoying myself.  And his closeness isn’t weird or awkward, even when he perches his chin on my shoulder.

 

“I’m having a lovely time, Albie,” he sighs quietly, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

 

“But…?” A part of me is hoping Lysander is going to end this little date by telling me he has to go.  Yet another part of me agrees with him and isn’t in a rush for our time together to end.

 

“But nothing.  I’m glad you came.”  I can practically feel him smiling with the sound of his voice.  And then I feel his lips on my cheek and a rush of hot panic surges through me.

 

Instinctively, I turn my head to speak to him. I want to tell him that I’m not sure I’m okay with this, but he interprets my movement as encouragement. And now his lips are on mine. He keeps me there with his hand gently cupping my face. 

 

My eyes close as I’m hit with the realization that this is my very first kiss, and damn it, I’m going to savor it. It’s actually pretty good, but it isn’t how I imagined it would be.  For quite some time, I’d wished that my first kiss would be with an entirely different blond boy, even though I knew it was just a pipe dream. 

 

Lysander is soft, and sweet, and gentle as he peppers my lips with chaste little kisses.  I find myself kissing back, not out of obligation or reluctance to reject him, but because it feels good.   When a voice from nearby shocks me out of my revelry, I’m actually disappointed that the kissing has stopped abruptly.

 

“What the hell are you doing, Lysander?” says Lorcan, yanking his brother by the arm and quite literally dragging him away.

 

An argument ensues, and I can hardly get in the way of a sibling squabble, much less one between twins.  They’re gone before I can even ask why Lorcan so vehemently objects to his brother kissing me.  I’ve always known Lorcan to be very protective and possessive of his brother, so I don’t pursue the issue.  Not right now, at least.

 

Back in the Slytherin common room, I can’t stop blushing or smiling.  I’m pretty sure _just been snogged_ is written all over my face, because my friends descend upon me while I’m sitting on the couch by the fire, basking in my minor glory.

 

Alexa drapes herself on my shoulder and drawls scandalously, “So, your date with Lysander was _that_ good, huh?”

 

I can’t help but smile, if a bit bashfully. “It was okay.”

 

“Bollocks.  You wouldn’t have that stupid look on your face if it was just _okay_ ,” says Duston, affixing himself to my other side.

 

“Details, Potter.  We want details,” says Lloyd, leaning on the back of the couch, whispering salaciously behind my ear, “Did you put your tongue down his throat?”

 

I blush hard and giggle.  “Gods, no!  We kissed, but not like _that_ ,” I admit.

 

Alexa erupts into a gasping squeal. “You kissed!  Was there chemistry?  Did sparks fly?”

 

“I don’t know if there was chemistry, but it was nice,” I reply with a nonchalant shrug.

 

Scorpius comes into the room and plops down on the armchair near the couch.  He doesn’t even look at me when he asks, “Back from your romantic interlude so soon? It couldn’t have been all that great.”

 

Lloyd takes my head in his hands and turns it toward Scorpius.  “Look at your boy, Scor. Tell me he doesn’t look thoroughly snogged senseless and I’ll give you a galleon.”

 

I roll my eyes and tilt forward to dislodge my head from Lloyd’s grasp.  Scorpius seems livid beneath his collected exterior.

 

He crosses his arms, gazes absently into the fireplace, and speaks with a flippant, vaguely sarcastic air.   “You kissed Lysander, hm? Well isn’t that just lovely.”

 

I’ve had just about enough of Scorpius and I scowl at him.  “You know, Scor, this jealousy thing is getting really old.  Why can’t you be happy for your best mate?”

 

“Jealousy?”  He sharply quirks an eyebrow.  “You still think this is about jealousy?”

 

“It sure as hell seems like it,” I say.

 

“I’m so done with you two fighting,” says Alexa as she stands and yanks me to my feet.  She grabs Scorpius with her other hand and commands, “You guys need to work out your issues right now.  I’m tired of listening to you boys bicker like an old married couple.  Go to your room and talk to each other.”

 

We can hardly argue with her. And she’s right. Scorpius and I really do need to talk. Luckily, our room is empty. As soon as the door closes, he rounds on me.

 

“You seriously don’t know why I’m so bloody furious with you?  You really think I’m jealous?”

 

“I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours anymore.  Maybe you’re afraid I’m going to spend less time with you if I have a boyfriend.”

 

“Well, yeah, but I’m not the sort of prat who would actually hold it against you for dividing your attention. But when you forget about me entirely, you bet I’m going to be an arsehole.”

 

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Scor. You will always be my best mate, no matter what.”

 

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re clueless!” He throws his arms up in exasperation. “You forgot my fucking birthday!”

 

My eyes go wide and I gasp with horror at the realization.  “Fuck. It’s the thirteenth. It’s today.  Shit.  I’m so sorry, Scor.” I put my arms around him and hold him tightly.  “I’m so, so very sorry. I was so caught up in Quidditch and stuff.  But really, that’s no excuse for forgetting your birthday.  I’m really, really sorry.”

 

He doesn’t move for a while and I worry for a moment that I’m beyond redemption.  I don’t blame him.  I’ve been a right arsehole to him for no good reason and I had let it go on for days. Scorpius is the last person on earth I would hurt, and I had been too self-absorbed to see that I’d been doing just that. Finally, I feel his arms go around my waist.

 

His voice is small and devoid of bitterness. “I would’ve understood if you were too busy to do anything for my birthday.  I know you had tryouts and your first date and, bloody hell, your _first kiss_ all on the same day.  But, shit, I would’ve liked just a small acknowledgement.”

 

I rub has back comfortingly as I vow, “I’m going to make it up to you.  I promise. Next year, I won’t forget and I’ll do something brilliant for you.”

 

He gently pulls out of my embrace and I’m hit with the full force of his pout.  It’s that pout that makes me do anything and everything for him.  “All I want right now is to hear you sing the birthday song.”

 

The birthday song is not the typical melody everyone sings over a cake.  It’s one I’d written just for Scorpius. It’s a bit silly, but he loves it, and I love the way it makes him smile. I had sung it to him every year since I’d known him. I take both his hands in mine as I sing.

 

_It’s your special day_

_and I’ve got something to say_

_Don’t want to see you pout_

_Just want to sing and shout_

_And scream out loud, hooray_

_It’s your birthday_

_It’s not the worst day_

_Yeah it’s your birthday_

_And I’ve got something to say_

_Have a happy happy happy_

_Happy birthday_

Scorpius cracks a tiny smile and I ask, “Do you think you can forgive me?”

 

He bites his lip thoughtfully and says, “I’ll consider it,” before giggling.  Then he hugs me around the neck and says, “I forgive you.  But if you forget next year, I won’t be so lenient.”

 

I squeeze him tightly and the rip in the fabric of the universe is repaired.  Everything feels right when Scorpius is in my arms.  In the next moment, it is like nothing ever happened. It’s like we never fought.

 

We’re sitting on the rug with our backs against the trunk at the foot of my bed, sharing an enormous box of sweets that his mum had sent him.

 

“So… Your first kiss, hm?” he asks, popping a jelly slug into his mouth, “Was it gross?”

 

“No, it was quite nice, actually,” I admit, carefully unwrapping a chocolate frog.

 

“Describe it in three words,” he challenges me.

 

I think about it while debilitating the frog by biting off its legs.  “Warm, squishy, and moist.”

 

Scorpius scrunches up his nose with disgust. “Bleh, that sounds really gross. I’m glad I’ve never been kissed.”

 

I’d almost forgotten how innocent he is, especially compared to our precocious roommates.  He’s never shown any interest in girls, or boys for that matter, and always seems to be put off by the thought of people pairing off.  Which makes me feel guilty and dirty every time I think of Scorpius that way, which is more often than I’m willing to admit to myself.

 

“I can’t explain it properly, but it’s not gross at all.  It’s like… that feeling you get when you’ve had a really nice cup of hot cocoa.”

 

Scorpius drops his head on my shoulder and divests me of my chocolate frog card – it’s got a picture of my dad, and he knows I don’t keep those.  “Why bother with snogging, then?  Why not just have a cup of cocoa?  Seems easier than dealing with a boyfriend.”  He flicks the card with a swift motion of his wrist and it lands on the teddy bear perched on Garret’s bed.

 

“Ooh ten points to Slytherin. Nice shot.  _You_ should’ve tried out for Chaser,” I say with a giggle before answering his question. “I don’t know if Lysander is my boyfriend.  I don’t know if I _want_ Lysander to be my boyfriend.”

 

“The kiss couldn’t have been _that_ nice if you’re not sure,” he points out.

 

I suppose he’s right.  The kiss was _hot cocoa_ – it wasn’t _hot_. It felt nice, but it didn’t make me swoon.  Though I don’t have any other kiss to compare it to, I’m not completely inexperienced when it comes to falling in love.  And I realize right then and there that what I feel for Lysander is nothing compared to what I feel for Scorpius.  Lysander doesn’t make me ridiculously happy with just a smile.  Lysander doesn’t send a surge of warmth through my body when he laughs.  When Lysander isn’t around, I don’t feel like half a person.  If what I feel for Scorpius is what I’m supposed to feel for a boyfriend, then Lysander really isn’t doing it for me.

 

“I guess it was just okay, then,” I sigh as my head tilts to rest on his.  “It’s still cool that I kissed somebody, though.”

 

Scorpius proposes, “I think you’re more excited about the fact that you snogged somebody than you are about who you actually snogged.”

 

He knows me so well.  He knows me better than I know myself sometimes. And when he joins our sticky hands, I bet he knows that I’m going to have a talk with Lysander tomorrow. He knows that I’m going to let the boy down easy. 

 

When the Quidditch roster is posted on the door of the Slytherin common room Monday morning, I’m not the least bit upset that I didn’t make the cut – not even the reserves.  Because I’ve got my best friend back.

**Author's Note:**

> Alexa and Duston belong to ColorfulStabwound. Bryce belongs to Shannon.


End file.
